Therapy
by katia1
Summary: CHAPTER FIVE NOW UP! A story inspired by Aryea's challenges on the Going Hunting board, which kicks off with Syd and Nige relic hunting at a health spa.  Very silly, slightly kinky and, err, mildly slashy. The 200th Relic Hunter story! Yay!
1. Sydney sings

_Disclaimers: Don't own Relic Hunter. I'm a penniless writer but, hell, I'm happy!_

_This is my two shot repose to challenges set by Aryea to write a stories about 'Sydney and singing' and one about 'Nigel, Simon Lagerfeld (the bloke who fancied Nigel on 'Nine Lives'), shoes, ice-cream and a shower.' Hell, if you just want the silly stuff and Nigel naked just skip to chapter 2, but I had rather a lot of fun with this first bit too…_

**Therapy**

**by Katy**

Part one: Sydney Sings

'Okay Nige!' started Sydney. 'The collar of Charles I's spaniel is hidden somewhere in this building and I'm not leaving without it! Stewie Harper is not going to get his hands on this one… well, if he does, I'll throttle him with it!'

Nigel looked up in dismay at the huge and apparently late Victorian manor house that loomed up at them at the end of the driveway: 'The house has obviously been extensively modified since the 1640's, when the king hid here with his dog. It looks like the whole place is a health spa now. How do we even know the chamber where he hid from the parliamentarian troops still exists?'

'I can just feel it,' grinned Sydney, buzzing with the joys of the hunt.

'Lovely. I'm sure you can all but hear the ghost of little 'Rogue' yapping.'

'Don't be so negative, Nigel,' she scolded mildly. 'When have I been wrong before? And besides…' She pulled out a large sheet of paper from her satchel. 'According to these plans, several rooms still retain the original 17th-century paneling: these treatment rooms…' - here she pointed to a series of small rooms in the west wing of the house -  
'…and the men's changing rooms.'

Without quite knowing why, Nigel's heart sank further. 'The men's changing rooms? I suppose that means I'm going to have to check those out alone.'

'Not necessarily,' shrugged Sydney, not entirely adverse to the prospect of taking on the men's changing rooms herself. 'We'll go with the flow on this one… although I thought you might be a little more comfortable there, than in the treatment rooms. It's all going to be women, having massages, face-packs, mudbaths that sort of thing. To be honest, I think you might attract a little more attention there.'

'Great! So you get to go for a nice massage or something, and I have to hang out in the men's changing rooms looking dodgy. '

'You never look dodgy, Nigel.' She smiled sweetly. 'And even though it is a changing room, it doesn't mean that you'll have to take your clothes off.'

'Yes, at least this isn't another nudist spa… I couldn't go through that again!'

'Oh, come on! Despite the presence of Stewie, there were aspects of that hunt I quite enjoyed.' She fluttered her eyelashes lasciviously as Nigel stared intently at the plans of the house, pursing his lips.

'The changing rooms do look small,' he observed, changing the subject. 'I suppose they won't take long to have a look at.'

'That's settled then,' confirmed Sydney, although she was mildly disappointed - for several reasons - he hadn't insisted she came too. 'You take the changing rooms, I'll take the treatment rooms… and we'll meet back here in an hour!'

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Blagging her way past the woman at the desk wasn't a trouble for Sydney. Neither was locating the series of little treatment rooms in the west wing of the house. The trouble only started when she realised that all the doors were locked - and that most of the rooms were occupied with people having various 'treatments'. After a bit of surreptitious listening at the doors, however, she realised that one was empty.

'It's a start,' she muttered, wondering if she was going to have to break in after the spa had closed to have a decent look at the rest. She had just put her shoulder to the door and was just about to burst in, however, when a mousy little women, with light brown, strawlike hair and twig-like arms, suddenly appeared behind her and asked:

'Are you here for the therapy?'

Sydney, who had nearly jumped when she became aware of the woman's abrupt presence, favoured her with an ingratiating, openmouthed smile. 'Uh, well…'

'Oh, please say you are!' cried the little woman, grasping Sydney's hands in an entreating fashion. I'm not sure I could go through with it alone, and if there was two of us… it would make all the difference. '

'Uh, okay,' replied Sydney uncertainly. 'I'm here for the therapy. You don't, err, happen to have a key to this room, do you?'

'No, but Marjorie will have one. Oh, here she is. Please, you mustn't go now… it would be awful!'

'I'm sure it can't be that bad,' replied Sydney, increasingly wondering what she just let herself in for. Treatments at health spas were normally supposed to be relaxing experiences, although the word 'therapy' did have mildly negative connotations. Images of a chiropractor jumping up and down on her back or electric shock treatment filtered through her mind. Still, she could handle that - although she'd rather just check out the room and get out of there…

A kindly looking woman in a white coat was now unlocking the door, and looking at her clipboard at the same time.

'I only have one client listed for this session, Vera Watkins,' she cooed in a calming, therapeutic voice. 'Are you both sure you've come to the right place?'

'Quite sure!' replied Sydney confidently, pushing past the woman as she switched on the lights of the chamber. She was surprised by its size and content - the room was several metres long, surely the largest of the treatment rooms, with all its windows covered and lit only by a series of ceiling mounted spotlights giving it the air of a small theatre or performance room. There certainly didn't seem to be any sort of couch or beauticians tools. Nevertheless, the walls were wood paneled and clearly 17th-century. Shooting her company an awkward smile, Sydney began to run her fingers over the panels, looking for signs of the secret compartment where Charles I and his spaniel had hidden.

'Ah,' observed Marjorie. 'I can see what we're dealing with here already. You're very nervous about your environment, aren't you, dear?'

Sydney did not even realize that the therapist was talking to her until she felt the gentle hand on her shoulder. 'I can help you, young woman. Help you build the confidence you need, and make you feel more comfortable with the world. '

Sydney smiled. 'Look, I think it's time I came clean with you. I'm not really here for the therapy…'

'Oh!!!!' Vera's cry was heartrending. 'Please don't say that, I can't go through with this alone!'

Marjorie smiled sweetly. 'I think the sooner we get started the better. Singing will help you both unleash your inner confidence and make you feel more at one with the world. It's a lovely way to express oneself!'

Vera squeaked with terror; Sydney couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. She was in a singing therapy session?

'No, really, I don't think you want me to do this…' she protested. Marjorie locked the door and turned the lights down so that only two spotlights remained: clamped on Sydney and Vera.

'Of course you want to do it, my dear! Now after me… do re me fa so la tea do!!!'

Marjorie warbled the scale in a strong mezzosoprano. Vera still looked petrified. Sydney gawped like a goldfish.

'Okay,' started Sydney, raising her hands to indicate that enough was enough. 'I really should be in this session, and you really don't want me to sing.'

'But I do, dear, I do!' coaxed Marjorie from the gloom. 'I won't be turning the lights off or letting anybody out till they've liberated the music in their souls.'

'But…'

'No buts!'

Sydney made an executive decision. Of course, she could shove her way out of there easily enough… but it seemed a little unnecessary and Vera already looked as if her nerves were torn to shreds. Yes. The best way to get out of there quickly and still be allowed back in at the end of the session without any breaking and entering would be to do exactly what was required of her. Sing.

Sydney opened her mouth. It hovered open for a few second in the style of a hungry basking shark before she bounced her tongue off the top of her mouth and unleashed the power of her lungs.

'Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!'

A loud, deep and slightly hoarse wail resonated around the small chamber. Marjorie took two steps back.

'Dear God,' the therapist thought to herself. 'The woman sounds like a walrus giving birth!'

Marjorie gritted her teeth and wished she'd inserted her earplugs: 'That was lovely, dear. Now let's have it again. You too this time, Vera!'

Sydney couldn't quite believe she'd been asked for an encore. She rolled her eyes and repeated the little performance, this time raising slightly up the scale. Unfortunately, to the trained ear, there were semitones where they should've been tones, and sharps where there should've been flats. There was also an interesting, grating quality to her voice - somewhat reminiscent of nails being torn down a chalky blackboard.

'Louder, louder,' entreated Marjorie, backing further into the dark so she could enfold her aching head in her hands. It was then that Sydney saw Vera. She couldn't see hear the tiny little woman but, somewhere beneath the foghorn that was Sydney Fox's voice, Vera was wailing away, singing her heart out. Rather than nervous and timid, she looked liberated and happy - and about twenty years younger.

Sydney suddenly felt unexpectedly revitalised herself and began to take a real interest in what she was doing. She went up and down the scale several times, each time getting louder and louder.

'Boy, this feels great!' she thought to herself. 'Let's see how high I can go…'

She closed her eyes tightly. With a vocal rush that could not have been bettered if she was being chased by the spirit of Supay himself, she ascended up the scale, right the way to 'Doooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!'

Into that note she poured the inimitable spirit of Sydney Fox. 'Hey, maybe I'm not so bad after all?' she thought, as the voluminous timbres of her voice resounded, apparently majestically, in her ears.

She held the note as long as she could - quite a considerable time - before her breath trailed off. The sound faded way into an ominous silence and was broken only by a soft whimpering.

She opened her eyes. For a moment it was pitch black then she heard the fumbling of a key, the door opened and light flooded in from the corridor. Vera sprinted out faster than a deer who had heard gunshot, obviously highly traumatised.

'You…you shattered all the lights!' stuttered Marjorie, who looked pretty shaken herself, her hand on her heart. 'And…and… I think one of the windows broke too, on the other side of the shutters!'

Sydney winced with embarrassment: 'Sorry…I'll, uh, pay for any damage, honest. But I tried to tell you, I'm not here for the therapy.'

'Probably all for the best,' conceded Marjorie. 'I think I'll be needing some after this. But dear, you could have a future in therapy. Once you've taken people by surprise with your singing voice, I'm sure all other phobias will fade into nothingness!'

'I'll bear that in mind,' replied Sydney, her words dripping with sarcasm. Then she dashed off to see how Nigel was getting on.

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_Thanks for reading, please review._

_Okay, onto part two!_


	2. Nigel and Lagerfeld

_Disclaimers: I don't own Relic Hunter and make no money out of this._

_Warnings: some nudity, mildly slashy and very silly._

Part Two: Nigel, Lagerfeld, shoes, a shower scene and ice-cream!

In order to get into the men's changing room, Nigel found, to his consternation, that it was necessary to book a sauna or massage - and pay in advance!

Reluctantly handing over his debit card - and praying it wouldn't bounce - he checked himself in for the latter. There was a slot free in 20 minutes, which he considered enough time for quick look around the changing rooms for any hidden compartments. Then he could scarper, if that seemed best - although he was a little reluctant to let his £35 go entirely to waste!

Searching the men's changing room, however, proved complicated. It was unoccupied when he arrived, but a low bench ran all round the edge with a coat-rail above. Both were piled with shoes, clothes and baggage. Nigel had to rummage his way through all of this just to get a peek at the panelling.

Once he found a way through, he began tapping at it, trying to locate any hidey-holes. His success was limited, although he did find a crack in the panelling through which he could see right through the stonework behind and into another room.

Unfortunately, the next room was the men's showers! After an eyeful of male flesh that he'd rather have been spared, Nigel cringed and drew away quickly.

It was then that he saw the stiletto heel.

It grabbed his attention instantly - how could it not amongst swathes of sports gear, trainers and staid tweeds?

Compulsively intrigued, Nigel pulled out the rest of the shoe for a quick look. It was bright red and sparkly with a pointed toe - somewhat reminiscent of Judy Garland's ruby slipper but about six times as large!

Nevertheless, Nigel thought it was a _nice _shoe. It was large, yes, but delicate and inherently feminine. Hell, he _liked _the larger ladies - as long as they were gentle with him! Not quite knowing what possessed him - he never did at such moments - he gave the shoe a sharp, excited sniff.

'Nigel Bailey! Of all the changing rooms, in all the world, you walk into mine!'

Nigel knew the voice instantly. He squeaked and jumped up.

'Well, this is the lovely surprise,' drawled Lagerfeld, fresh from the shower and with nothing but a small white towel tied around his waist. 'I should've known that beady little eye belonged to you… and now I see you found my missing shoe, you little minx!'

Lagerfeld started over. Nigel backed up against the bench, dropping the offending piece of footwear, which the older man picked up and dusted down affectionately. He grinned hungrily at Nigel.

'Well! I never took you for a shoe fan, Nigey-boy,' he drawled, regarding Nigel's nicely-fitting grey trousers, blue wooly sweater and slightly oversized raincoat. 'I thought you liked the down-at-heel look: rent-boy chique - very gauche! But I'm sure these little red sparkly babies come in your size - this is just superb! We can go shopping together! What are you doing for...' he glanced casually at his wrist - despite there being no watch there - , '… oh, for the next month!'

'I'm very, VERY busy,' articulated Nigel, breathing heavily and trying not to panic. He had to get out of there but, right then, the bulky Lagerfeld, with his shiny, bald head and hairy chest, blocked the route between him and the door.

'Oh, come on! I ought to be very cross with you after you stood me up at that art opening. In fact…' Lagerfeld paused, leaned up against the coat rail so he loomed over Nigel, dripping copiously on him, and peered sincerely into his face. 'In fact… I think you deserve a right, good spanking!'

Nigel had shoved past and was halfway to the door - with Lagerfeld cackling mercilessly - when there was a knock and it opened. His way was now blocked by an exquisitely petite brunette woman dressed in a kimono.

'Nigel Bailey?' she asked.

Nigel was so flustered that Lagerfeld had to answer for him.

'Oh yes he is! Oh yessy, yessy, yes!'

'It's time for your massage,' the young woman told him.

'Lovely!' breathed Nigel, trying not to hyperventilate. 'Let's go!'

'Hold on one sec,' interrupted Lagerfeld. 'You need to take your clothes off, Nigey! Don't tell me you _just _came in here to spy on the big boys and sniff the big girl's shoes?'

Nigel ignored him. 'Can I change in the treatment room?'

'I suppose so,' she shrugged.

'Great!' Nigel pumped his fist with relief. 'Let's get the bloody hell out of here…'

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

'I'll give you a few minutes to undress,' smiled the young lady as she showed Nigel into a pleasant room, also woodpanelled, but with a large mirror at one end. It was lighted with relaxingly floral-scented candles. In the background fluttered watery becalming music sprinkled with mutedly squawking seagulls.

'You can put your clothes on that chair, then lie on your front and cover yourself with the towel.' She handed him a fluffy blue sheet.

'Thank you,' replied Nigel. 'I…uh... don't have to take _everything _off, do I?'

'You can leave your underwear on if you choose. But you _did _order an all-over speciality body massage.'

'Did I?' sighed Nigel, who had not paid much attention to what he'd agreed to before. 'Well, I think I'll leave them on for now, if that's okay?'

'As you wish.'

The woman disappeared and Nigel slowly stripped down to his tightfitting black-lycra trunks and lay down on his front on the massage table with the small towel covering as much as it could. He folded his arms in front of him and buried his face in them, desperately trying to relax.

He wondered if he ought to be leaping up and checking the wood panelling. But, the truth was, his encounter with Lagerfeld had made him feel rather shaky and not a little nauseous.

Hell, it had been a tough few days! He'd been trailing all over Europe after Sydney, just to make sure that Stewie didn't get his hands on a mouldy piece of 17th century leather that probably still smelt of dog! Surely he'd earned a few moments of quiet… and that masseuse had was rather pretty.

He wasn't sure how it happened. It could've been the tranquillising odours from the candles. It could've been the mellifluous music. Whatever it was, rather soon, Nigel nodded off…

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

He only awoke from surprisingly pleasant dreams when he felt a pair of confident hands gliding over his shoulders, smoothing in a melty delectable-feeling oil.

Nigel's initial alarm - which manifested itself in a little gasp - faded quickly. Without looking up, he shut his eyes again.

It felt good, and he conjectured he might as well get his £35 worth. The hands were wonderful - warm, surprisingly large and slightly rough, with a strong but tender touch. He imagined this was just how Sydney's hands would feel, caressing his bare, well-moistened flesh. It was a lovely fantasy - Nigel couldn't prevent a little groan of pleasure escaping from the back of his throat.

'That's a boy, Nigel! It sounds like you're enjoying this just as much as I am!'

Nigel's eyes snapped open and flew to the mirror from where he absorbed the horrific sight of Lagerfeld, standing over him. The dreaded man was fortunately now wearing a long dressing gown but he was kneading his shoulders and grinning like a Cheshire cat.

'My,' continued the former art dealer. 'You have wonderfully soft skin. What bath salts do you use? I envy you, I really do!'

Nigel was about to jump up and head for the hills when a cool breeze wafted up his body and an even more awful realisation struck him.

His hand flew to his backside - and found that his pants were gone from under the towel. He _couldn't_ jump up - he was naked!

'Agh! Where are my pants? I can't believe you took them off - this is harassment!'

'You didn't object to it at the time,' cooed Lagerfeld, his eyes scanning up and down Nigel's peachily delectable and glistening form. 'In fact, you giggled like a schoolgirl!'

'I was asleep!'

'No you weren't, you tease! But if you want to call me Sydney again, that's just fine. It gave me a bit of a buzz.'

Nigel buried his face in his arms. 'If you don't go away, I'll call the manager!'

'But darling! I _am_ the manager!' Lagerfeld pumped vigorously on Nigel's lower back.

'What? How? I thought you had an art business in New York.'

'Ah, the Big Apple! Happy Days! I had to leave in a bit of a hurry, I'm afraid. I made an absolute killing on a sculpture deal… but then the FBI started asking all sorts of nasty questions! So I scarpered back to old Blighty and purchased this little soufflé of a business. Never been happier… especially since you walked back into my life, dear boy!'

Nigel stifled a horrified squeak as Lagerfeld's fingers slipped beneath the towel. 'I think I'm going to be ill! Would you please go now? I'd like to get dressed.'

'Oh, don't be such a drama queen! Your treatment isn't even done yet.'

'Will it take long?' whined Nigel - anything to get out of there!

'Not at all! Now let's get stuck in. I'll just check if you're ready…'

'Ow!'

Nigel yelped as Lagerfeld slapped his left buttock hard enough to make it sting, despite its covering.

'What the hell was that for?'

'This _is _a hot and cold treatment. You've had the nice warm oil so I'm just checking that you can take the shock…'

'Shock? What shock!? aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!'

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

Sydney heard Nigel scream as she entered the men's changing room. She busted down the door to the treatment room in an instant.

'Lagerfeld! Err… Nigel? Are you okay?'

'No!' wailed Nigel. 'This hideous man has just poured liquid ice cream all over my naked body.'

'So he has…' was all Sydney managed as she drunk in the scene. Lagerfeld was laughing so hard he was shaking; even biting his lip could not smother his mirth. Nigel was lying naked on the table, smeared with what looked like vanilla ice cream, the largest concentration of which was rested upon his pert backside.

Unsurprisingly, Nigel was extremely red in the face. He shivered crossly as he peeped up at her from under his fringe.

'Wow!' thought Sydney. 'I'm going to kill that Lagerfeld - but Nigel does look good enough to eat!'

'Don't blame me!' chortled Lagerfeld, raising his hands in defence as Sydney started towards him. 'Nigey-boy paid £35 for this treatment. He's been simply loving it! And after I caught him spying on me in the men's showers and sniffing my shoes you can hardly say he's not been encouraging me… well, would you look at that?'

Lagerfeld's exclamation came just in time to prevent Sydney from hitting him. He pointed to the mirror, grabbing both Sydney and Nigel's attention.

'Nigey yelled so hard when I poured on the ice cream that he cracked the mirror!'

'Well I hope you don't expect me to pay for it!' huffed Nigel. Sydney, however, had gone over to investigate.

Only a tiny fraction had cracked but it was enough for Sydney to be able to lift away a little section in the corner. 'Look, behind the mirror - it's a secret compartment!! It must be where Charles I hid - and where little Rogue lost his dog collar! Nigel, come and see.'

'I can't!' groaned Nigel through gritted teeth. 'I've got nothing on.'

'Oh come on,' scolded Lagerfeld. 'You've got nothing to be ashamed of. I'm sure it's not just your résumé that is long…'

Sydney shot Lagerfeld a killer glare and tossed Nigel his pants. He slipped them on under the towel, and then scuttled over to put on the rest of his clothes as Lagerfeld mewed with disappointment.

'I must lever more of the mirror away,' observed Sydney. 'I need something to break it with or…'

She turned Nigel and grinned: 'Cover your ears. I have a plan… and it might just get rid of your unwanted friend, too!'

Nigel obeyed as Sydney took a deep breath and then hit home with a top C sharp. Lagerfeld ran howling from the room as the mirror cracked from side to side.

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'All that for bloody a dog collar,' complained Nigel, as they drove away from the premises - without paying any bills.

'At least Stewie Harper won't get his hands on it.'

'And I suppose the International Museum of Pets will have a new prize exhibit. But it's going to take me some time to get over the trauma. After all that unpleasantness with Lagerfeld, I'll need proper therapy!'

'Maybe I can help,' suggested Sydney. 'Seeing as practically everything Lagerfeld owns is stolen goods, I didn't feel too guilty about slipping a few little bottles of that massage oil into my pocket.'

Nigel shuddered: 'I don't think I want to be oiled by anybody ever again!'

'How about smeared with ice cream then?' She leaned in towards him - leaving only one eye on the road - so her breath tickled his neck and drifted dreamily through his hair.

'It was a bit bloody cold,' he grumbled. Nevertheless, the pleasurable sensation forced his focus to wander down to the little dog collar, which he fondled in his hands. 'But perhaps if…'

Nigel trailed off abruptly unable to believe what he'd been about to admit to his boss: that if it hadn't been Lagerfeld, he might have quite enjoyed it and that she could smear ice cream all over his naked body as much as she liked - if she agreed to dress in leather! Help… he needed a cold shower!!!

'Perhaps if?' coaxed Sydney.

'Oh nothing.' Nigel forced a yawn and curled up facing away from her, trying to think sobering thoughts. At that moment, even remembrances of fondant fancies with Great Aunt Maud seemed to have strangely kinky connotations!

'Nothing, huh?' thought Sydney, and pressed her foot on the accelerator. She couldn't wait to get back to the hotel and start Nigel's therapy!

**Okay, so who wants more??**

**Review me and ye shall receive…**


	3. Nigel and the handcuffs incident

_Disclaimers: as before._

_Warnings: silly kinkiness, err, bondage._

_This is for Tanya Reed, Aryea, Ivoryrose and Lulu. Happy Sunday afternoon - or whenever you get to read this ;)_

Part three: Nigel and the handcuffs incident

Back at the hotel, Nigel threw himself down onto Sydney's bed with a grateful moan, his body sinking deep into the feather mattress.

'I promise I won't be long,' said Sydney, dumping her satchel on the coverlet at his feet. 'I've got to go and meet with the director of the International Museum of Pets in the lobby to discuss the significance of the find. Will you be okay?'

'I don't know,' murmured Nigel, wearily pinching the bridge of his nose. 'I can't get the image of that awful man out of my mind. I can still feel his hands all over me…ugh!'

'Why don't you take a shower?' suggested Sydney helpfully.

'That's not a bad idea,' sighed Nigel, lifting himself up on one elbow. 'I suppose I'd better head back to my own room, then…'

A towel landed on his lap with a soft slap.

'Why don't you have it here? I'll be a little while chatting to Dr Wendenhow and my ensuite is _way _more luxurious than yours. Besides, I've got this amazing 'brunettes-only' shampoo in my bag. My hair's never been so glossy! You should try it - you'll look great!'

Nigel shrugged. 'Okay then. Thanks.'

'Fine. And when I get back you'll be all refreshed and ready for that massage I promised you.'

'Well, err…' stuttered Nigel, scrunching his nose. 'I'm still not sure about that… I mean, I wouldn't want to put you out or anything.'

'Relax, Nigel! It'll be quite different to Lagerfeld's effort, I promise. I always like to, uh, spice things up a bit, channel some of the energy flows of Tai Chi Chuan, and a few other things I learnt in Thailand. You're going to love it!'

Nigel opened his mouth to talk, but nothing came out but an incomprehensible squeak. Sydney didn't hear. She had already departed the room long before his mind had stopped boggling.

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Nigel was in the bathroom and had stripped down to just his snug-fitting black underpants before he remembered the shampoo.

He quietly admitted to himself that he rather liked it when Sydney said he looked great. Not that he was fishing for compliments, but he certainly warmed to the idea of her thinking his hair an even nicer, shinier chestnut shade than usual. Maybe she'd even want to touch it…

He unbolted and eased open the bathroom door. As expected, Sydney wasn't back yet, so he made a dash for her satchel.

Rummaging in Sydney's bag felt a bit rude but, fortuitously, the shampoo bottle was near the top. He was just retrieving it, however, when something cold and metallic brushed against the back of his hand.

'What the hell?' Nigel gasped with a horrified excitement as he pulled from her satchel a pair of shiny, silver handcuffs.

He couldn't even begin to imagine why they were there - well, actually, yes, he could! This _was _Sydney! Maybe she carried them about for the emergency apprehension of bad guys - but, if so, why hadn't he seen her use them before? He couldn't help wondering if maybe they were kept for more entertaining purposes. Was _this _how she spiced up her massages?

The blood rushed to his cheeks and his pulse quickened.

Not only was the image of Sydney wielding the handcuffs undeniably sexy, but there was also something compulsively sleek and sensual about the object itself. Intrigued, he slipped the clasp of one side of the apparently unlocked cuffs open and then, tentatively, snapped it shut again. It opened again immediately. So they were 'safe'…

Nigel glanced over his shoulder towards the door - both looking and feeling like a naughty schoolboy - and then he did the inevitable.

He slipped one of the cuffs around his wrist. They felt funny, cold and tingly against the soft skin on the underside of his wrist. They were also a little large.

Not that he really _wanted _them to be locked but, if they had been, his wrist could have wriggled out easily. For some reason, this bothered him.

Furrowing his brown in concentration, he adjusted the fittings so they tightened sufficiently and it would be impossible for him to squeeze his hand free. It was then he heard the click.

'Oh no…oh no…oh….BUGGER!'

Nigel tried in vain to open the clasp, cursing himself emphatically. The bloody things had locked on him after all.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!

The key!

He _had _to find the key!

He began searching frantically in the bag with his free right hand, but unfortunately he could find _everything _but: her makeup, her cross-bow, her notoriously expensive perfume and even more notorious little black book. Then his fingers became tangled in some skimpy, silky fabric…

Nigel squeaked, withdrawing his hand quickly. Too quickly. The black thong shot from the satchel, bounced off an authentic reproduction of Constable's 'The Haywain' above the sofa, and disappeared down behind the brass bedstead.

'Bugger!!'

Nigel surged after it, sticking his hand down the back of the bed in the direction of the errant panties, and clinging to the bedpost with the other. After some wild scanning, his fingers grasped the unmistakable fabric. He reeled them in with a triumphant 'yes!'

As he leapt back towards the satchel, however, his arm cracked out behind him and he yelped with pain.

'What the hell…no! NO!'

He dropped the knickers in horror. Somehow - _somehow _- the open end of the handcuffs had wrapped around the brass bars and snapped shut.

He tugged desperately at the cuffs, but there was absolutely no give.

He had handcuffed himself to Sydney's bed in his underwear. How on earth was he going to explain this one?

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

'Nigel, you're never going to believe this…oh! Okay…keep calm, just don't move!'

Nigel, who had been yanking frantically at his bondage and fiddling with the lock, turned to her with an embarrassed grimace and wrapped his free arm around his torso as she burst into the room. Now the high colour drained from his face as he detected real alarm in her voice.

'What? What is it? I can explain…really…what?'

'There's nothing to worry about. Just keep calm.'

'What? Please! You're scaring me… what is it?'

'Ssssssssh!'

Sydney stalked over towards the bed with swift but stealthy footsteps as if she was creeping through a field of landmines. Nigel's eyes grew wider by the minute as she silently leant forward and scrutinised the lock on the cuffs.

'Damn,' she breathed.

'What is it????' screamed Nigel. 'Aren't you going at least ask me how this happened? Won't you let me explain?'

She laid her hand on his smooth, bare shoulder. 'There'll be time for that later. Now, you've got to listen to me, and keep calm. These handcuffs, they're not mine. They're Derek Lloyd's.'

'Derek's! Oh hell, you're not going to tell me that he's the only one who can unlock them?'

Sydney nodded seriously.

Nigel thrust his free hand through his hair in exasperation. 'Oh God! How embarrassing! If I may ask, what _were _you doing with Derek's handcuffs in your bag?'

'If _I _may ask, Nigel, how _did _you come to be shackled to the bedpost with them? Oh, never mind – you _are _English - we can talk about that later. Basically, he entrusted them to me last week, in exchange for some information about the whereabouts of the, err, dog collar. We _needed _that tipoff and he knew the handcuffs would be safe with me. He was being targeted by several underground crime organisations who wanted to get their hands on the government's latest secret weapons.'

Sydney stroked his shoulder as she spoke. Nigel, despite his cringes, thought it felt delicious, yet her glistening eyes were still too serious for this to be a 'come on.'

'_Government's latest secret weapons_?' he asked with trepidation. 'Err, what do you mean?'

'Now keep calm, but the fact is that the handcuffs are rigged to explode if somebody tampers with the lock.'

'What!?!' Nigel nearly jumped several metres in the air, but Sydney grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him back down flat onto the bed, her own body straddling his.

'Why….why didn't you tell me you had explosive handcuffs in your satchel?' he panted.

'I didn't want to alarm you!'

'I'm alarmed now! _Very _alarmed!'

Sydney forced a reassuring smile. 'Now everything is going to be just fine,' she soothed. 'They haven't exploded yet, so that's good news. I'll go call Derek, he'll know what to do. In fact, he's in London at the moment I think, so I'm sure he can be here in no time to sort you out.'

'This just gets better and better,' groaned Nigel. 'What am I supposed to do until then?'

'Uh, just keep very still I guess!' She shrugged, looking down at her nearly-naked assistant, one hand cuffed above his head, a bewildered desperation in his light, hazel eyes. 'But, I've got to say, Nigel, those handcuffs look great on you!'

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	4. Derek to the Rescue

_Disclaimers: as before. Not mine, but please don't reproduce etc._

_Warnings: even sillier than the last chapter, lots of nearly-nudity, and mild implications of slashiness!_

_Thanks for those reviews, gals! Aryea - I did consider letting Nigel put his clothes back on before Derek arrived… and then I came up with another plan!_

Part four: Derek to the rescue.

'Okay Derek, got it! You'd better get your ass over here in five, or else!'

Sydney slammed shut her mobile and stomped back into the bedroom from the ensuite.

'Okay, Nige, Derek is going to be here with the key very soon. He says the best thing to do for now is to keep still, like I said, and to keep calm.'

'Keep calm?' moaned Nigel, raising his free hand to his forehead in despair. 'How am I supposed to do that? These things could blow me to kingdom-come at any minute! I'm doomed!'

'No, you're not. In fact, Derek has let me know a few things we can do to prevent the things from, uh, going 'boom'. They're pretty high-tech – they can sense an acceleration in heartbeat, a rise in body temperature - all the stuff that indicates somebody is trying to escape. So if you just…think nice thoughts and keep cool, everything will be just fine.'

'Keep cool? What do you mean? Can't I even put my clothes back on?'

Sydney grimaced guiltily. 'Err, he didn't recommend it. No sudden changes of temperature, you see? But don't worry, Derek and the bomb squad will be here any minute.'

'The bomb squad! You mean he's not coming alone?' Nigel hands slipped over his eyes. 'Oh God! I wish the ruddy thing would just explode and be done with me! Err, what are you doing?'

Nigel peeped through a crack between his fingers to see Sydney whipping of her low-cut black top and peeling down the waistband of her leggings.

'Trying to make you feel more comfortable! If we're _both_ just wearing our underwear, the explosives squad will hardly even notice!'

'You think!? Of course they'll bloody notice!!! But at least they'll be looking at you, not me…oooh!'

Nigel closed the gap in his fingers - or at least pretended to. Sydney was now wearing only her lacy brown bra and knickers. His heart-rate distinctly accelerated as he felt her sink down onto the mattress beside him.

'I think you'd better go hide in the bathroom,' he murmured weakly, turning away from her onto his side to avoid the dangerously arousing sight of her. 'If I'm going, I don't want to take you with me!'

'No,' replied Sydney. 'It's my fault you are in this mess - well, sort of - and we're in it together. Right, I think it's time for that Tai Chi massage! Let's sort out your Sen flow!'

Nigel decided not to argue as she rolled him onto his front, careful not to jolt the handcuffs too much. He suppressed a yelp as cool, slender fingers jabbed sharply into a rigid muscle somewhere at the back of his shoulder-blade. A pounding in Nigel's heart, accompanied by an initial terror he was about to explode, was almost instantly overcome by a sumptuous sensation of well-being. Her other hand found a similarly angst-ridden spot on the other side of his back, and began to rub into it with firm, circular motions. Nigel began to feel positively relaxed and sleepy.

'Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,' he sighed. 'This makes it _almost_ all worthwhile. Are you, uh, going to get the oils out?'

'I thought you'd gone off being oiled?'

'I'm warming to the idea again,' replied Nigel, all but melting as Sydney began kneading her palms down the middle of his bare back.

'Well let me know if you're getting _too_ warm,' reminded Sydney. 'We don't want to set off the, err, 'you know'! I'll get the oils in a minute - are you ready for the next move?'

'Uh huh,' replied Nigel.

'Right. Here we go then!'

Crack!

'Aaaaaaaargh!'

Nigel wailed loudly as Sydney began stomping up and down his back.

'What the hell are you doing?'

'It's the next move in the Tai Chi massage,' replied Sydney, who now had a foot on either of his buttocks, transferring her weight from side to side. 'It really unblocks those energy pathways. It'll make you feel completely revitalised!'

'You nearly gave me a heart attack! It's amazing we didn't blow!'

'Really?' Sydney jumped off his bottom, landing lightly on the mattress. 'I _did_ warn you.'

'I was expecting something relaxing!'

'This _is_ relaxing…' Sydney broke off as Nigel peeped at her over his shoulder, looking hot, bothered and anything but calm. 'Okay then, maybe that move's not for you. How about this?'

Nigel inhaled sharply as Sydney lay down and stretched out her body - full-length - on top of his. He could feel her every intimate curve moulding softly into him. It felt _great_…

'The important thing here,' Sydney was saying, 'is to clear your mind of all its clutter. Imagine you are floating on the top of a beautiful, calm ocean…'

Nigel scrunched his eyes shut and tried as hard as he could, but it just didn't work. Sydney started undulating gently up and down on him, skimming her fingers down the underside of his arms and pressing her knees into the back of his thighs.

'Nnnnnnnnnng! No! It's no good, it isn't working. You're going to have to get off of me!'

'I admit your Sen is a little blocked, but we'll be there in a minute if you just think of that ocean… '

'I can't, Sydney! Don't you see? All I can think of is…is…'

'Is what?'

'…is you lying on top of me in your bra and panties! Now get off, before I set the handcuffs off and scatter small parts of me, you and your expensive lingerie all over a wide area between here and the British Museum!'

'Okay…'

Before Sydney could move, however, there was a splintering crash. The window shattered to the floor as somebody swung through it, boots first, and landed upright on the carpet.

There, with the end of a rope dangling from a noisy helicopter in one hand and an unnecessarily large machine gun in the other, was Derek Lloyd. He was wearing nothing apart from a snug-fitting pair of khaki Y-fronts which, naturally, allowed him to display his extremely muscular physique to great advantage.

As Nigel stared in horrified disbelief, four other commandos arrived in a similar fashion. They were also naked apart from their underwear.

'Derek Lloyd, about time,' growled Sydney. 'Nice pants!'

'Thanks, Sydney. I decided it would be best if the boy's and I came with minimal clothing – I thought it would make Nigel feel less conspicuous. I'm considerate guy, you know?'

'You sure are,' grinned Sydney, with only a small hint of sarcasm.

'You look great too, by the way. Like the lace! Good job I didn't go for it today, or we would have matched!'

Derek winked and tossed away the rope. Still the holding machine gun, he began stalking towards the bed where Nigel remained prostrate under Sydney's thighs.

The other guys formed a row by the window, grinning at the lovely view of Sydney in her skimpies.

'And how are you holding up, Nigey-boy?' asked Derek, deadly serious beneath the jaunty tone. 'Making the most of the situation, huh?'

Often, at such moments, Nigel's first instinct would have been to snap a sardonic reply. However, there was just _something_ about Derek Lloyd that always seemed to make him go a little giddy. In all other respects Nigel Bailey was quite heterosexual but, amongst other things, Derek Lloyd always eerily reminded him of an older boy at boarding school - a boy who had once admired rather more than he ever believed was 'platonic'. Right now, moreover, he felt he was right back there at that hated institution, cowering both curious and terrified in the corner of the showers.

'Oh, Derek!' he cried suddenly. 'You've got to help me! I don't want to die!'

'Sssssssssh, it's okay now.' Derek patted Nigel reassuringly on the shoulder. 'Err, Sydney, you might want to step away.'

She shook her head resolutely. 'No way. I'm staying right here!'

'_Right_ there?' articulated Derek, trying not to draw attention to the fact that Sydney was now sitting on Nigel's lower back like he was a pony. 'Err, okay, as long as you're both comfortable. Comfortable, Nige?'

'No I'm bloody not!' he whimpered. 'Can we _please_ get this over and done with?'

'Okay,' began Derek authoritatively, dropping his machine gun so he could fiddle with the medal cuff around Nigel's wrist. 'Here's the deal. Has anybody got any sort of lubricant?'

'What?!' cried Nigel, his mind boggling again.

'What the heck?' demanded Sydney. 'I thought you had a key!'

'Uh, it's been stolen, Sydney. This is all high-level, need-to-know stuff. Crimelords the world over have been after it and, err… '

'Okay, so let's get this straight. You lied about having a key, and all you propose is that we use lubricant to try and wriggle Nigel's wrist out of these things?'

'Uh…yeah. Got a better plan?'

'No! Apart from I'm pretty sure we could have done that without you and the goon squad arriving and causing me to have to claim on my travel insurance yet again! Why didn't you just say?'

'Errr, well, because it's a highly delicate operation, Sydney. This is a job for expertly trained Ops…and…uh…'

Sydney spied a moment of almost subliminal eye contact between Derek and Nigel - and, barely discernible though it was, she was pretty sure she saw Derek Lloyd blush.

'Okay,' she thought herself. 'So next time I want advice on doing something by myself…I won't tell Derek Lloyd that Nigel is almost naked and chained to the bed!'

She grabbed a bottle of massage oil from her satchel. 'Will this do?'

'Great!' Derek poured the contents of the bottle over Nigel's wrist. 'It's going to be a bit of a squeeze, though. Who the heck made the handcuffs this tight?'

'That would be Nigel,' answered Sydney knowingly. 'But we're going to discuss that problem later…'

'Will you please stop talking about me as if I'm not here!' spluttered Nigel. 'If you must know, I was just experimenting…err, no, that wasn't it. Oh, I don't know!! I just wish I could get the damn things off!'

'I know, I know,' soothed Sydney. 'Do you think you can get your hand free now?'

'I'll try…nnnnnnnnnnng!' Nigel scrunched his hand up as small as he could and tried to slip it through the cuffs, but to no avail. 'It's no good, it just doesn't fit! Oh God!'

'Would it help if Sydney and I took hold of a leg each and pulled?' asked Derek helpfully.

'I'd think I'd rather die,' muttered Nigel. 'Look, is there _any_ other way?'

'There is one way,' conceded Derek. 'Most of the chain between the cuffs is primed to explode if it is broken… but there is one section that you can safely sever with a precision blow with an axe.'

'An axe! No thanks!' Nigel renewed his efforts to wiggle out his hand.

'I could do it,' announced Sydney suddenly. 'I saw a fire-axe in the corridor, it'll be a breeze.'

'This is no job for a civilian!' countered Derek. 'If anybody is swinging that weapon, I am!'

An axe was quickly found by one of Derek's bomb squad. Derek and Sydney stared determinedly at each other, Sydney still sitting on Nigel, and Derek perched on the side of the bed with his machine gun, both claiming the right to execute the fateful blow.

'Nigel should choose,' barked Sydney. Derek agreed.

'Of course, I won't resent you if you _don't_ choose me,' she told her assistant. 'But if you choose Derek, you'll be making the _wrong_ decision.'

'Choose me, Nige,' smiled Derek sympathetically. 'Sydney's good, but this isn't her specialism. She'll chop your hand off!'

Nigel glanced frantically between them. Of course, he wanted to choose Sydney, but what if Derek was right? He knew Syd had great coordination, yet if she was just one millimetre out, it all could be over! But could Derek, with all his special Ops training, really do it any better?

He swallowed hard then took a deep breath. Which one should he choose?

**Well, what a cliffy, huh? My 'other half' read this and told me I should be certified insane… anybody agree? Please review ;)**


	5. Debriefing

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Warnings: extreme silliness and spoofiness. Ongoing semi-nudity. **

**Thanks for those reviews ;)**

Chapter Five: De-briefing

'I'm sorry Derek, it's nothing personal and it's not because I don't respect you greatly - as a friend, of course…' Nigel averted his eyes from Derek's highly-buff body to Sydney's more enticingly comely curves. 'But it's going to _have_ to be Sydney. We've been through so much together and...and…'

Nigel's heart lurched unexpectedly as Derek raised the machine gun, but it was merely a gesture of resignation.

'It's okay. This won't change anything between us. I'll still call an ambulance when you need one.'

'You're not helping,' moaned Nigel.

'It's a joke,' retorted Derek, far too seriously. 'Honestly, I'd trust Sydney with my life, too. Not as much as I'd trust _me_, but I would.'

Meanwhile, Sydney had commandeered the axe and was now swinging and swaying it through the air in a way that Nigel found slightly alarming.

'What are you doing?'

'Trying to get the 'feel' of the weapon, so I can channel all my positive energy through it - in the _right_ direction.'

'Err, lovely. But I'd, personally, feel more comfortable if you opened your eyes.'

Sydney had been concentrating so hard on the 'flow' of her energy, her eyes were indeed shut. She opened them.

'That better? Well, I think I'm ready now.'

'Are you sure you don't need a practice swing?' asked Derek. Nigel looked back at her over his shoulder again, forcing a lopsided grin of support for this suggestion.

'No. When you're directing the horizontal Kei forces, the first strike is always the cleanest. You still trust me, Nige?'

'Uh…yes?'

'Great. Now don't move a muscle, and I'll have you free in a flash!'

She raised the axe. Nigel scrunched his eyes shut, trusting in the best but unable to prevent himself from fearing the worst.

'Stop moving,' hissed Sydney.

'I can't help it! I think… I think must be trembling. Oh hell, I'm sorry!'

He felt Derek's firm hand on his shoulder. 'It will be okay. Trust in Sydney. She is _very_ _nearly_ the best.'

Nigel shut his eyes again and held his breath. The blow - and possibly the gush of pain and blood and an enormous explosion - would come any second. But it didn't.

'Derek! What the heck are you doing?' cried Sydney.

There was a loud thud.

Hearing a grunt and a cat-like snarl, Nigel pried one eye open to see Derek and Sydney rolling across the bedroom carpet. Fortuitously avoiding the broken glass, their naked limbs intertwined as they wrestled for possession of the axe. Derek's team began cheering him on - and offering Sydney encouraging wolf whistles.

'I'm sorry,' panted Derek. 'I couldn't let you do it! This is not just anyone… this is Nigel!'

'Believe me - I am completelyaware of that!'

Derek, having taken the advantage of his superior body weight, now pinned her to the floor. His eyes flitted between her face and her heaving, lace-clad breasts… and then up to Nigel, who had fixed them both with an exquisitely anxious stare.

'He's my _best_ friend,' whispered Derek to Sydney. 'My _only_ friend, if truth be known, apart from maybe one other…heck, I don't even know him that well, but…but…'

'I understand,' replied Sydney kindly. 'But you've got to realise that I love him _even_ more than you do…and so…'

'Ooomph!'

She kneed him swiftly in the groin, freeing herself and jumping to her feet. 'I'm the only one I can trust to free him. Okay, Nigel, hold on….oh!' The axe was still high in the air, when she froze.

'Yes!' Nigel cried out in just and sat up abruptly, the cuffs no longer attached to his wrist. 'They just sort of fell away! I'm free!'

Even as he threw his arms around Sydney's neck, there was an ominous buzzing sound from the handcuffs that now dangled, Nigel-free, from the bedstead.

'Is that good?' asked Sydney over Nigel's shoulder, a single eyebrow arched in concern.

'Uh….NO!' yelled the special Ops man. 'I don't know how you did that, Nigel, but I think you might have triggered the explosive mechanism.' He grabbed Nigel, tearing him from Sydney's arms and dragging him towards the door at a breakneck speed. 'Come on, people. Let's go, go, GO!'

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

Sydney, Nigel, Derek and the bomb squad thundered down the fire exit staircase and into the street, where a large black Mercedes pulled up straight in front of them. Nigel was intensely aware that he was now parading himself in his underwear down a crowded London thoroughfare, and that it was somewhat damp and chilly in the autumnal air. Thus he was immensely relieved when Derek threw open the door of the Mercedes backseat and said: 'This is my ride. Get in.'

Nigel didn't need telling twice. Sydney, however, hesitated. She was apparently oblivious to the crowd of curious - and not unhappy - onlookers, who wondered if they'd stumbled across a walking advertisement for Calvin Klein's new lace and khakis range.

'I'm not getting in there with you unless you tell me where we're going. I'm a busy woman, and I'm about to start a new relic hunt.'

'It's 'need to know', Syd. But you won't be disappointed. I'm going to take you to see the same person who gave me the tip-off about the doggy collar at the health farm.'

'Really?' queried Sydney, still suspicious. 'Well… okay then. But I hope it doesn't take long.' She climbed into the car next to Nigel, followed by Derek who slammed the door. As they pulled away, there was a muted BANG from the hotel.

'Oh God,' moaned Nigel. 'I hope nobody got hurt. '

'Nah,' said Derek. 'It was only a small device, and nobody was left in the room. My boys will sort it all out!'

'In their _underwear_?' asked Sydney incredulously.

'These are tough guys,' growled Derek proudly. 'They train to work the most extreme conditions. They will take it their stride.'

'Very impressive,' conceded Nigel, who had squeezed himself into the corner of the seat with his arms covering as much of him as possible. 'But, _not_ being special Ops trained or anything, I have to admit that I'D REALLY LIKE MY CLOTHES BACK!!!'

'All in good time, my friend,' grinned Derek. 'My priority now is to get you de-briefed.'

'What!?' squeaked Nigel. 'No way! I mean, they're all I've got left!'

Sydney patted his thigh reassuringly. 'It's okay. He means he needs to make sure that you know how to handle any fallout from the, uh, incident with the handcuffs. Right, Derek?'

'Right,' replied Derek, slightly uncommitted.

'Okay,' agreed Sydney. 'But we're still only going along with this to meet with your contact. Dr. Wendenhow has asked me to go after another royal pet relic, and I need a lead.'

'Oh, I think she'll be able to put you on the right scent,' shrugged Derek. 'I've told her all about you, and she's been keen to meet you both for some time.'

'Really?' asked Nigel. 'May I enquire who _she_ is?'

'Yeah,' grinned Derek, glancing out of the window to observe that the car was now queuing past the Houses of Parliament, edging slowly towards Birdcage Walk. 'Its 'need to know' stuff, but seeing as we're nearly there, I think I can bend protocol. Brace yourself, Nigel. You're off to see the Queen!'

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

'Okay Nigel, think calm thoughts and try to take nice, even breaths…that's it. Good boy... do you have a paper bag or something, Derek? I think he's hyperventilating.'

'Will this do?' Derek whipped a brown paper bag from what appeared to be a pocket in the back of his pants. 'It's amazing what you can store in a pair of special-ops trunks, there's this surprisingly spacious compartment for… '

'Derek, surely that's 'need to know'… and I don't WANT to know.' Sydney snatched the bag from Derek and waved it in front of Nigel. 'Try breathing into this. '

'I'm okay,' gasped Nigel. 'I just need to lie down.' He flopped down so his head was rested in Sydney's lap, and she began gently stroking his hair.

'Sssssh, it's okay.'

'The Queen,' murmured Nigel. 'We can't… it's not possible.'

'Oh yes it is, buddy,' chortled Derek. 'I've known her for a couple of years now, since I was first brought in to advise on the security of her corgis. Now she won't trust the 'little blighters', as she affectionately calls them, to anybody else.'

'Really?' gushed Sydney. 'That's great. I can't wait to find out what she knows about her ancestor's furry friends. This next one is going to be a difficult hunt…'

'You can't just waltz in willy-nilly and talk to the Queen,' muttered Nigel. 'Particularly not….when… oh God! Particularly not when you're wearing only your underwear!' He buried his face in Sydney's lap, who continued to toy comfortingly with his hair.

'She'll be cool about it,' winked Derek. 'I figure that it would only be a problem if she wanted to give you a medal… nothing to pin it on, you see? Otherwise, she's one pretty cool lady.'

'_Pretty cool_?' Nigel raised a flushed-looking face. 'You're talking about Elizabeth the Second, by the Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Her other Realms and Territories Queen, Head of the Commonwealth and Defender of the Faith! There's nothing _cool_ about _any_ of that! What on earth do you mean?'

'You'll see! Liz and I are pretty tight - 'like that', as you Brits would say. In years to come they might make movies about me and her, like they made about Queen Victoria and Billy Connolly.'

'That was John Brown, Queen Victoria's beloved Scottish retainer,' corrected Nigel. 'Billy Connolly just _played_ him in the movie… Oh bloody hell, what does it matter! This is all some elaborate setup – it just _can't_ be true!'

Nigel gazed up in awe as the gates at the front of Buckingham Palace swung open at one nod from Derek, and the Mercedes swept into the forecourt.

'I hope she knows her stuff,' retorted Sydney, far from over-impressed.

'I can't believe I'm finally getting to see the Queen,' murmured Nigel. 'And I've _still_ not got any clothes on!'

**Yeah, silly, silly, silly. Pah, sorry. **

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


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